


Alatariel's Book

by fandomblr



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomblr/pseuds/fandomblr
Summary: Before she leaves middle-earth to sail to Valinor with Gandalf, Galadriel looks back at some old books about her family's history and ponders upon what they got right and what they got wrong.
Relationships: Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis, Galadriel | Artanis/Gandalf | Mithrandir
Kudos: 15





	Alatariel's Book

Galadriel stood in her chambers, her long silver garment scattered across the floor. She examined the books on the meticulously polished shelf, not knowing which ones to take to Valinor. Despite her many years of wisdom, Galadriel had never been fond of her husband’s books. It was not that she did not enjoy such things, but rather that she knew the tales too well for her liking, having lived several of them. She was inspecting a particularly thick volume when one of the books of the upper shelf happened to fall down, causing quite a stir. Galadriel crouched down to grab the volume, which was opened on a random page. Galadriel examined the page it had been opened in, seeing to her dismay that it contained a family tree, labeled _'THE HOUSE OF FINWË .'_

At the very top of the page was written her grandfather’s name, Finwë, first of the High Kings of the Noldor. Galadriel remembered his candid smile, his warm touch. His memory took her back to a time when her name was Artanis Nerwende, and she sat next to her other cousins while her grandfather recited the writings of Rumil. But above all, Galadriel remembered the great love her grandfather had born to her half-uncle, Fëanáro. The way he had mourned over his father’s death was unlike anything young Artanis had seen, and her father’s sorrow only pained her the more.

Next to Finwë’s name was Míriel Serinde, his first wife and mother of Fëanáro. Galadriel knew her not, for her _fëa_ had passed to Mandos long before she was born. Yet her grandmother had spoken miraculously of her, saying that no other maiden could compare to her in gentleness and beauty. And what to say of her grandmother, Indis of the Vanyar? Alike Finwë, she had been warm to all, especially towards her grandfather. An echo of a smile formed in Galadriel’s face, remembering how she and Irissë had braided their grandmother’s golden hair into quite chaotic tresses, tresses Indis had refused to undo.

Below Finwë’s name were her uncles, Fëanáro and Nolofinwë. She had had little love for her first uncle, for on the inside his _fëa_ burned far too arduously, something that had instilled fear in her soul. Yet Fëanáro had never treated her wrongly, even after she refused to give him a strand of her hair. In truth, Galadriel often wondered whether she had judged her eldest uncle too harshly and whether he had possessed the same kindness his mother had been so acclaimed for. But Fëanáro was a complex being, too complex for the eyes of a child to understand. She had only seen through the first layer of his _fëa_ and had been far too fearful to gaze down any further. It was one of the disadvantages of seeing through one’s _fëa_ , and with time she had grown to understand that. 

And then there was Nolofinwë, her favored uncle. Of him, Artanis remembered his fierce spirit, not as scorching as Fëanáro’s, but fierce still. His bravery was a matter of song during the first age, and with just reason. Yet his bravery came with wisdom, a wisdom that could leave him at times. His bravery had been his downfall, after all, a downfall that Artanis grieved over still. Artanis yearned for the old days in which Nolofinwë sat next to her father, watching their children play and rejoice.

And then there was her father, although there were some missing still. There had been her aunts, Findis and Lalwen, the one who stayed behind and the one that went with them. Yet their names appeared not on the paper, perhaps because they had never married or had children, a thought that enraged Artanis. Her father would have been in a similar mood, except less impulsive. That was mainly what characterized her father, his serene mind, and soft heart. Unlike Fëanáro, Arafinwe had a simplicity of soul, one that was composed of tranquility and rationality. Was that the reason he had gone back to Aman? 

Galadriel soon noticed the tears were streaming across her face. Would her father be proud of who she was now? Of her past and present deeds? It was a question that she could not answer, both out of pain and out of pride. And what would her mother think of her? Eärwen, the swan maiden of Alqualondë and daughter of Olwë, would have despised those who massacred her kin. Would she too have despised those that had witnessed their kin being slaughtered? 

Galadriel kept her eyes focused on the paper, not wishing to think of the answer. She looked down to the next row below Fëanáro’s name. The names of her half-cousins were written there; the kinslayers of old. Galadriel knew that she should despise them, perhaps even hate them, but she could not feel such a thing. She had done so for almost an entire age, but as she learned of their deeds through Elrond’s words she began to hate them less. In truth, all she could feel for them was pity, for despite their wicked deeds their hearts were not so. Even Atarinkë, who was deemed a villain by many, was not entirely so. She looked at their names, so foreign to her in Sindarin. Maedhros to her had been Russandol, the diplomat, often the stayer of swords when he could. Of all of the sons of Fëanor, he and Makalaurë were the ones she was the fondest of, even during her childhood. Russandol, being the eldest of all of Finwë’s grandchildren, was the most responsible, which gave him a reputation of being quite ‘boring’ to the rest of their cousins, with the exception of Findekáno. Makalaurë had not been quite as responsible, but rather gentle and logical like his mother. He was more like the babysitter of the family, while Russandol was the guard. And what could be said of Tyelkormo and Atarinkë? Tyelkormo was skilled, rash, and eager to see the world. His ambitions, like Atarinkë’s, could seem impossible, yet he always obtained his desires in the end. Atarinkë was of like mind, with the exception that his tongue was quieter and less flattering, although with the same sharpness. And then there was Morifinwë, whose brothers jokingly called him Carnistir. His freckled skin and blushing cheekbones were so often a matter of joke among the sons of Fëanor, and his short temper and dark mood only enhanced the mockery. Yet Galadriel knew that on the inside he was compassionate and kind at heart, just as his mother Nerdanel had been. He valued loyalty above all things, a trait that perhaps had forged his doom. And the twins? Galadriel had not been close to them, as they often spent their days hunting along with Tyelkormo. In truth, Galadriel knew not what to think of them, having known them seldomly.

Her eyes moved across the page, finding the names of the sons of Fingolfin, her friends of old. Findekáno’s name appeared first, being the eldest of his siblings. Findekáno had been named the Valiant and with just reason. His deeds had been of surpassing bravery, with the rescue of Russandol not being the least. Findekáno had loved Russandol, or Maitimo as he called him, and had been loved by him. But alas, what tragedy had befallen them! Findekáno was too good for Middle Earth, too brave, too reckless perhaps. His reign had been the shortest in all of the house of Fingolfin, only lasting sixteen years. His death in the Nirnaeth had been a bitter loss, especially for Russandol. Findekáno’s death had only worsened his state of mind, slowly paving the long road to his ultimate suicide. But the kingship had passed to Turukáno in the hidden Gondolin. Of him, Galadriel remembered the great love and friendship her brother Findarato had bore for him, and of the death of Elenwë, his wife. Turukáno had been stern, and wise of word and heart, yet he was proud and stubborn like his brothers. He was secretive, perhaps even paranoid, but who could blame him? He had lost all dear to him; his grandfather, his wife, his father, his brothers, Findarato, Irissë… Irissë, who had been adventurous and free as her brothers, not able to settle in a place until she was forced to by enchantment. Irissë had been a dear friend to her, as they had both been alike in spirit; one who wished not to be bound to a man or a place, and one who wished to have a land of her own. Yet Irissë was not the youngest of the house of Fingolfin, but rather Arakáno, whose name was missing. He had been short-lived, perishing in battle after having arrived in middle-earth. He too was valiant and reckless, swift in battle, but not swift enough.

After the house of Fingolfin was hers, the golden house of Finarfin. Her eldest brother, Findarato, was listed below her father’s name. She noted that she was crying again, but she didn’t mind. Like Findekáno, Findarato had been too noble, too true of heart for Middle Earth. His love for the race of men had ultimately led to his passing, something that she resented for a very long time after his death. But Galadriel held this resentment not for long, knowing that Findarato would have wanted her to think otherwise. After all, his killer had been the werewolf of Sauron, the servant of Morgoth. Ever since his death she rued his name and rued it still after his defeat. Yet his death had not been in vain, for the man Beren lived on. She had admired her brother’s noble deed, despite the great sorrow it inflicted her. Many of her deeds had been done on the account of Findarato’s memory, on how he sacrificed himself for the race of men. Perhaps that was why she had been so fond of the hobbits, mostly Frodo, and the dwarf, Gimli. _It is what Findarato would have wanted_ , she thought with tears in her eyes. He would have loved the hobbits as he had loved the race of men.

But Findarato was not the only brother Galadriel had grieved over. Her other brothers, Angaráto and Aikanáro, were also listed on the family tree. They had both been so alike that many mistook them for twins, with their long golden hair and tanned skin. Their temper was similar, and Aikanáro’s wrath in battle was famed, as well as his love for Andreth of the house of Bëor. Yet their love never came to a close or a marriage, as both he and Angarato had perished in the Dagor Bragollach. Angaráto, unlike his brother, had been wed with Eldalótë, who bore him a son, Artaresto. But Galadriel saw with some dismay that his name was listed next to hers as if he were a son of Finarfin and not of Angrod. This was not the first mistake to be found in the book, as she saw that Ereinon was only listed as Findekáno’s son. She then turned to the front cover of the book, titled the “ _QUENTA SILMARILLION.”_ She turned the pages of the book, seeing that it narrated nearly the entire story of Middle Earth with the exception of some events of the Third Age.

A knock was uttered on her door, and she recognized her husband’s voice. “Alatariel, we must ride to meet Círdan. By then the ship must be awaiting us.”

Galadriel assented, grabbing the book as more tears formed in her eyes. “I am ready.”

Celeborn met her outside of her chambers, walking with her towards the carriage that was awaiting them. He asked not about the motive behind her tears, for he had grown accustomed to her days of sorrow, days in which she remembered all of those who she had loved and had died in the old Beleriand. 

Galadriel examined the book further, noting the mistakes that it contained. She was to correct those mistakes, she decided. It was the only way she could compensate what her family had sacrificed while she was in Doriath when she should have been in Nargothrond. The truth should be mended, to honor all of those he had lost; Findarato, Angaráto, Aikanáro, Findekáno, Turukáno, Irissë, Arakáno… Even some of her half cousins, the sons of Fëanor, deserved better than to be deemed as villains when they had only fulfilled the last words of their father. Even Fëanor’s actions must be explained, she thought, to make up her harsh judgment of him. 

The carriage stopped to an end, and Galadriel stepped outside to meet Círdan and the rest of the crew. A familiar scent lured her, the scent of the Undying Lands, her home. Tears formed in her eyes once more, but grief was no longer their cause. “ _Atya, I am coming home.”_

Her eyes met with Mithrandir’s grey irises, and he smiled keenly. His voice was clear as water, in their own tongue. “I will not say; do not weep, for not all tears are of evil.” Her delicate hands met his wrinkled sturdy ones, and for a moment all her sorrow was gone. His smile was reciprocated in her fair features, and nothing else needed to be said between them. Yet Celeborn still stood there, witnessing their acts. Galadriel turned towards him, his absence being evident. “You will not come?”

He shook his head. “Alas, no. I have no place in Valinor right now, and apparently, I have no place in your life either. The love you once had for me is no more. I can see its flame extinguished in your eyes, for there is now a flame that burns for someone else,” he said as he stared at Mithrandir. 

She approached a caring hand towards him, but he rejected such caress. “That is a lie and you know it. Teleporno, the twins have taken care of themselves for over an age now. They are not children any longer. And as for my own love, I would not be mistaken if I said that your own feelings towards me have faded.”

Galadriel had expected for him to be hostile or even wrathful, but his words were as soft as ever. “If it is my fate that worries you, I will not stay in Middle Earth forever. I too will sail to Aman, but not now.”

The crew then went aboard the ship, including the two hobbits, yet Galadriel stayed along with Mithrandir, bearing Celeborn farewell. _“Márienna.”_

And so he went with the rest of their people, his people now. Galadriel turned away and headed to the ship, with Mithrandir’s steps next to hers. “ _Al lelyamë, melda heri_ ,” said he, embracing her hand gently.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations in Quenya:
> 
> Márienna—Farewell (meaning ‘farewell towards happiness) in Quenya.”
> 
> Al lelyamë, melda heri— Let’s go, beloved lady.
> 
> Atya— father


End file.
